A Horse Walks Into a Bar...

Flash Sentry, Alan thought as he leaned against his truck, was not the spoiled brat he had originally painted him out to be. Although, he silently admitted to himself that most of that impression could have come from his own envy of Flash’s car. A glance to the left revealed said car—a sleek thing that made his own clunker look even worse, somehow.

As it was, Flash seemed to be good kid. He told Alan about some of his hobbies, which including football, hanging out with friends after school or on the weekends—typical teenager stuff. What really made Flash though was his love of music, specifically rock. Of all the topics he covered, Flash spoke about playing guitar during the jam sessions with his band with such pride that even Alan could tell that it wasn’t something he had picked up in an effort to be cool: it was something the kid had a real passion for it.

Alan wasn’t completely off the mark though. Flash’s parents were well off, enough to help fudge the bill for their sons sixteenth birthday gift. The young man explained that he had wanted his car ever since he had seen the Hot Wheels version of it in grade school. Come middle school, he had started saving up money for it. He’d managed to get a decent amount of change by high school but his dream car was still a ways away until his parents had made a deal with him: get straight A’s for the year and you get the car. It took a lot of studying, but the teen was able to do it with help from some tutors. The blue and yellow decals, he added, of a shield and lightning bolt respectively, were designed by one of the artsy girls at his school and he’d taken to slapping them all over his car.

Alan didn’t have the heart to tell him how tacky they looked.

Now, Flash Sentry was kneeling in the snow to Alan’s right. He could’ve sworn he saw locks of blue hair underneath Flash’s hat. Californians are weird, he thought.

“Alrighty, shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to fill her up,” he said. He was currently filling up Alan’s car with a gascan. “Nice truck, by the way. Where’d ya get it?”

Alan snorted. “Gift from my parents. High school graduation present. Can’t say I’d call it nice by any stretch of the imagination—things a rusty piece of shit if you ask me.”

The smile didn’t leave Flash’s face.

“Ehh... it’s a little beat up...” Alan snorted again, but Flash continued. “But, give it a de-rusting, a new coat of paint and a tune up and I’d bet you’d have a beauty on your hands.”

He paused and scratched the back of his head before going on. “Eheheh, sorry, I just have a thing for old cars from the eighties. If it wasn’t that baby,” he rolled his head at his car, “then it would have had been a nice Ford or something. Having some actual space to carry my band stuff in would be nice. Can’t carry much in my car besides my guitar and this.” He jiggled the gascan slightly.

Alan smirked at that. “Heh, guess it evens out then. I have a piece of shit that can carry more shit, and you have a sports car. Sounds fair enough to me.”

Tipping the nozzle of the canister higher, Flash started, “Soooooo... where’re you headed, if you don’t mind me asking? Not many people use the backroads unless they’re visiting family.”

“Is that what you’re were doing? Explains the gascan if so. Smart.”

“Yep and yep. My grandma lives out around here. I’d figure I’d come out and visit her for the weekend. She, uh, she doesn’t get to come visit very much.”

“How come?”

“General old-age stuff. Combine that with her blindness and well...” He shrugged. “Not many visits from grandma anymore. Gotta do it myself.”

“That sucks. Sorry to hear about it. What about your parents? Where’re they?

Flash waved him off. “Ah, it’s no big deal. I come out and visit her every few months just to check up on her. Not like she’s very far away anyways. As for my parents, they’re fine. My dad’s a police officer and my mom’s a pharmacist at the local hospital. They’re busy a lot of the time.” With that, he pulled out the gas can and made for his car. “At least this let’s me take a break from Canterlot every now and then,” he said, chuckling like he’d made a funny joke.

Alan stared at the teenager for a second. “You live in Canterlot?”

“Yeah. Why, are you going to visit family up there?” Flash inquired.

“Er...” Alan debated on what he should tell Flash. He couldn’t tell him the truth of course, but he didn’t want to lie to the guy either. If it wasn’t for the teen he and Caramella might have found themselves in a sticky situation. Besides, Flash could be a great asset in getting to know more about Canterlot and Alan didn’t want to lose that chance. Hell, there was a good possibility that he went to the high school that Alan was looking for.

He chanced a glance over at the rear window of his truck and saw that it was devoid of any equines. Thankfully, Caramella had gone back into hiding mode.

“Um, yeah, something like that,” he finally stated.

“Can’t see why you even bothered with the backroads then. You could of just continued down the interstate.” He chuckled again as Alan went to start his own car. “Hey, if you want, you can just follow me. I can show you around town so you can see all of the cool places Canterlot has to offer!”

Alan turned his key and the engine of his truck sputtered to life, like a zombie reawakening for the first time. Caramella scooted over so that her muzzle was poking in between the door and front seat.

“Pssst, hey, what’s going on?” she whispered

Glancing to make sure Flash wasn’t looking, he whispered back, “Met some kid named Flash. Weird name if you ask me, but hey, I’ve heard worse. Says he’s from Canterlot, he even offered to show me around the place.”

Caramella’s blue eyes sparkled. “Really? That’s great! He can probably show us—”

“Everything alright up there, Alan?” Flash yelled out.

“Uh, yeah, peachy! Just, y’know, talking to my dog.” He whipped back to Caramella. “Get down quick! He’s pulling up!”

Alan jumped into his car, slammed the door shut, and rolled down his window as Flash pulled up besides him.

“Oh, you have a dog? I didn’t even notice it. What’s its name?”

Alan glanced over his shoulder. Caramella gave him a look was probably trying to be angry, but ended up just being adorable. “Uh, Caramel... just Caramel. She’s a pretty quiet dog. Not much of a people person either, so no petting I’m afraid. Much more interested in taking a good long nap under her covers.”

Caramella’s eyes rolled.

“Oh, dang.” His disappointment lasted for only a second before he cheerfully added, “So, you want me to lead the way to Canterlot? I know the streets of the city like the front of my—”

“Yeah, sure, I’m in,” Alan interjected.

“Sweet. Welp, follow me! I’ll go slower for you,” he said, but there was clearly no mockery behind it. Just pep. “Next stop, Canterlot!” And he pulled off.

Alan put his foot on the pedal. “Hoo boy...”

“He certainly seems excitable...” Caramella said.

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope he doesn’t crash into a tree on the way,”